


Victory's Father, Orphaned Defeat

by HerGambitandSwanSong



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Action/Adventure, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Diego Hargreeves-centric, F/M, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Diego Hargreeves, John F. Kennedy Assassination, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Powers Exploration, Tag As I Go, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerGambitandSwanSong/pseuds/HerGambitandSwanSong
Summary: "Victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan" - John F. KennedyA look into Diego's life before reuniting with his family in 1960's Dallas.Entering through a time vortex seconds before the world was going to be obliterated, landing alone in an alleyway in 1963, and trying to overcome his crippling family issues were three things Diego never thought would happen side by side. Yet here he was.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Victory's Father, Orphaned Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Three part fic on what was going on in Diego's life after travelling back to the 60s alone. (Spoiler alert: He has a hard time adjusting to the change in scenery)

_“The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.”_ – John F. Kennedy. (1962). State of the Union Address.

Circa September, 1963

Diego can remember vaguely in their messed-up childhood his father mentioning that time travel was akin to plunging into freezing water and coming out an acorn- or some metaphorical shit like that. While he didn’t understand what the old man had been saying at the time- and still didn’t for that matter, he could at least recognize the difficulty in the task. If time travel was difficult for even Five to master, then it would practically be impossible for him to figure out.

So, when he came out of a swirling blue vortex alone, feet slamming against a pavement in an alley he did not recognize, he knew his chances were next to nothing at finding his family. About the only thing he knew for certain was that the moon was sitting derisively in the sky, and the world looked to still be in one piece for the most part. But what had happened and where the hell was everyone else? _Shit_ , where was he for that matter?

A scream snatches his attention before he can think any deeper, his mind switching to vigilante mode like autopilot. Rushing the corner, Diego finds a man grappling with an oddly dressed lady for her purse.

“Hey!” He barks as the lady cries out for help again. With a strong yank, the thief pries the purse from the lady’s hands, taking off across the street in a mad dash for freedom.

Diego follows in pursuit, but he won’t go far. He grasps one of the many knives littered throughout his person and in a controlled, yet fluid stroke, throws it. The force of motion pushes the hilt out from his palm, the smooth metal sliding off his index finger like he’s guiding a bolt of light through the air.

As the knife flies, a tug in his gut pulls sharply to the right, and he feels the knife lurch. It cuts through the air in an arc, speeding like a bullet. In a spilt second the blade catches the shoulder of the thief, the momentum dragging him along for the ride.

With a satisfying thud, the tip embeds itself into a wooden light post, trapping the unwilling thief between a rock and a hard place. 

The man struggles in place as Diego approaches, hands gripping the pursue tightly like some clawing rat desperate for food.

After a quick but effective elbow that knocks the thief unconscious, Diego pries the purse from the man’s hands, turning to the lady who had followed them.

Wordlessly and if not a little absently due to a mixture of confusion and adrenaline pumping through his veins, he hands the lady her purse, giving her a quick once over to check if she’s hurt. From the looks of it she’s fine, if not a little shaken, but the lady’s spooked expression that stares owlishly at him as if she’s not sure whether to be terrified of him or relieved is what makes him just barely swallow back the bile that threatens to rise.

The lady, in what Diego only realizes is old vintage clothing stumbles away, eyes still skittering over Diego like some rabid animal. He watches as she leaves, just as confused as he was before. It’s only until the staticky drawl of a man with a discernible voice sends shivers down his spine does he turn around.

An old antic television set- one probably only seen in museums nowadays sits in the storefront window of a furniture store, glowing through the harsh darkness of the night. It’s even playing, and Diego doesn’t realize he’s leaning in mesmerized by the contents of the screen, till his face is but inches away from the glass.

One of the many former Presidents of the United States is stood at a podium giving a speech that has been drilled into the memory of Diego over and over again growing up. Their father had forced them to become experts in practically every field from the sciences to history to politics, and while not much ever sticks with Diego during those tedious times, due to disinterest, rebellion, and uselessness, the few that did stayed present like a recent memory in his head.

And that’s where it suddenly it clicks. Where- no _when_ he is.

“-Ask not what your country can do for you,” The southern drawled voice says through the television.

He’s in the past, in the goddamn 1960’s.

“-Ask what you can do for your country.” 

John F. Kennedy; He’s still alive.

* * *

After the initial shock and suddenly realization that not only his family was possibly dead, but he was stranded decades in the past alone. Diego did what any sensible person who grew up in an experiment disguised as a household would and find somewhere to regroup, take shelter and gather information. He had a mission to accomplish now.

If Five was really dead, then that smug bastard had thrown him into the opportunity of a lifetime. He had a chance of fixing arguably one of the most significant moments in American history and the world in general. Not only could he be saving a good man’s life, but possibly bettering the lives of millions in the process.

_‘Slow down_ ’ he could hear his mom’s soft voice saying in his head. ‘ _focus’_

Diego was quite resilient in part thanks to a childhood life of spectacle and cameras. Growing up, the public’s eyes were on him and his family constantly. It didn’t help that the uniform and domino masks made them look like snotty British private schoolers on their way to play pretend.

That being said, he wasn’t the heartless bastard his siblings always believed he was, and the stares he was getting as he walked down the street were really starting to claw at his stony exterior.

People parted around him as he walked, looking him up and down in a mixture of discomfort and hesitation. It was quite common for people to shoot confused glances what with the knives, scars, and black outfit and all, but these looks held something foreign yet begrudgingly familiar to him. Something he experienced times before but in much more subtle, restrained ways.

He stopped by a theater playing some movie from the 60’s as a crowd of people exited the doors, chatting and carrying bags of popcorn in hand. 

“Uh hey,” He said moving in the way of a couple not much younger than he was. “Do you mind telling me what town we’re in?”

The lady in the pair shifted away from him, pressing closer to her partner. The man, who had soft facial features and a comb-over gave him a tentative look.

“We’re in- “The young man was cut off before he could finish by a louder and rougher voice that came from behind.

“-Well goddamn, a spic that knows English, y’don’t see that everyday?”

A cold chill ran down Diego’s body, and slowly he turned around, a look of incredulity on his face. Did someone really just blatantly say what he think they said to him?

The voice in question stood behind Diego, an older, shorter man with graying hair and harsh wrinkles that set his face automatically into one of constant distain.

“We’re in Dallas.” The man said slowly, in halting pauses that empathized each syllable similar to how grade schoolteachers taught children the alphabet.

“Excuse me?” Diego said, straining to keep his voice from hissing. 

He had felt this boiling frustration and anger before years ago. It was a feeling that took him a long time to get over. After countless sessions and hours of practicing and repetition, there was always somebody who had to come along that would tear it all down. Talk to him like he had one less braincell than everyone else, treat him like a simpleton that couldn’t even speak properly, let alone understand basic strands of words. His father showed it in his belittling comments, the public showed it in halted speech and plain words, and his siblings showed it in their deafening silence.

“I said we- are- in- Dal-las, _hombre_.”

“Say that again,” Diego seethed under his breath.

The man pulled back, a smug grin of satisfaction on his wrinkled, leathery face. “What? Can’t understand me? No spik ingles?”

Diego’s fingers found themselves sliding down the smooth metal hilts of his knives.

“Oh no, I understand you just fine.” He said in a whisper that practically spit venom, taking a step towards the man. The man squared his shoulders, an expression of rage on his face. “I just want your last words to be the dumbest possible shit that comes out of your mou-“

A hand pressed against his chest guiding Diego back. He looked down at the hand in mild surprise, tracking up the arm it was connected to. The man with the black comb-over was stood in the middle of the two, partially off to the side as if reluctantly inserting himself in the situation.

Comb-Over looked to the older man, “Look sir, it’s getting awfully late and I wouldn’t want to spoil the mood with a silly hustle like this. He’s just lookin for some directions, it’s nothing to go starting fights about.”

In almost bitter displeasure, the older man shrugged away, carefully eyeing both men like a bloodthirsty hound. With all the grace of a moody fourteen-year-old, the man stalked away grumbling under his breath “Candyass”. 

“You gotta watch out there fella, not many people around appreciate folks like yourself.” Comb-Over said to him as the crowds of people dispersed.

Well nobody was perfect; his family was a flawless example. Even the most politically correct people in the 60’s would not be labelled as such in the 2000’s. He’d take what he could get though. 

Diego eyed him, “And you do?”

Comb-Over shrugged nonchalantly, nodding over to the lady from before, “My girl’s been reading a lot about some spiritual group called Destiny or something. I think most of it is bogus but some of what they say I can get down with.”

Diego nodded absentmindedly. It was hard to wrap his head around everything that was happening.

“I’m Benny,” Comb-Over said suddenly, extending out his hand. Diego watched the hand. Something about the gesture made him feel uneasy. Shaking hands felt like forming bonds, forming trust with another person. The last people he had any bonds with were dead. Patch- gone to his absence, his mom gone to his helplessness, his siblings gone to his failure. If God was real- and he really doubted the guy was, maybe everything that had happened was a sign screaming at Diego in neon to work alone. Be a lone wolf. He was never a people person to begin with, and half of the people he knew either just barely tolerated him or were forced by intangible connections as obligation for being raised together.

But something in his heart told him to give people one more chance. “Diego.” He said, accepting the hand with a shake.

“So, Diego,” Benny said, “What are you doing in a town like this?”

_Getting over my dead family? Maybe saving the President of the United States from his upcoming assassination?_ Hell if he knew. “Not sure,” He muttered. If he was in Dallas, then he’d be close enough to the president before his assassination. It was just a matter of figuring out what was today’s date.

“Oh, this pretty lady by the way is my girl, Patty.” Comb-Over- Benny, gestured towards the lady not too far off from them, standing timidly. She waved gingerly, before shyly tightening the grip on her small clutch. “Where are you staying? We could point you in the right direction if your lost.”

“I’m not staying anywhere.”

“Really?” Benny said in surprise. “Well, we can’t let that happen, now can we?”

“Benny…” Patty said quietly, anxiously. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, Pat.” Benny waved dismissively. “It’s not safe wandering the streets at night.”

Diego frowned, why did this feel like some cheesy and unrealistic 60’s sitcom?

“I just met you.” Diego pointed out bluntly in confusion.

“Yeah, you just met him.” Patty echoed in agreement.

Benny slapped Diego on the back happily, pushing him forward into a slow walk. “He’ll just stay the night, nothing more nothing less. It’ll be swell.”

And that was exactly what happens.

Well, not entirely.

Entering Benny’s house, Diego can’t help but absolutely hate the interior of the house. He wants to say it’s outdated, but that would be an obvious statement considering the situation he was in. It’s cluttered and chalked full of tacky earth-toned furniture. Granted the only basis for comparison that Diego could use was either an over the top gothic mansion or the basement of a boxing rink, so truthfully, he had no right to comment.

Patty clearly not too pleased with the situation led Diego reluctantly off into the living room as Benny bounded up the stairs. She stared at Diego with a prominent frown on her face, one riddled with concern and uncertainty. She had every right to be worried and skeptical. A man they had only an hour ago met off the street was now in their house, decked to the nine in knives and strange attire. She had the sense that Benny obviously lacked, something Diego could admire about her. 

As quickly as Benny was gone, he was entering the living room a pile of clothes in hand.

“Here,” He offered, extending the pile out to Diego. “These were some hand-me-downs from my pa, but I doubt I’ll be growing into them anytime soon.”

Diego took the clothes, shifting uncomfortably in place as Benny and Patty left the living room, not a single word exchanged between the two of them.

“Let us know when you’re done changing.” Benny hollered before disappearing completely into another room.

Diego stripped his clothes off mutely, taking notice of the straight cut denim jeans and earthy brown button-up that was now in his possession. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but it was better than nothing. He needed to blend in, and walking around in a pure black outfit, fitted with dozens of knives was not as conspicuous as people thought it to be.

Grunting to signal he was finished, the couple came back in, looking him up and down decidedly.

“Wow look at you.” Benny whistled, “You look like a real heartbreaker now.”

“Not bad,” Patty admitted, “Although, your shoes are still strange.”

Diego looked down at his black combat boots. He’d never get rid of those babies. They were padded, steel-toed, and way too comfy to let go.

Diego opened his mouth to talk, getting quickly cut off by the hammering of fists against the front door. The pounding was forceful and quick, the very strength of the bangs rattling the door as though it were a flimsy piece of wood. A wave of silence fell across the room as all eyes rested on the door.

Benny moved over to the door, turning the knob to open it. Something about it didn’t feel right, and if there was one thing Diego trusted, it was his gut feeling.

“Hang on,” He spoke up. Taking notice of the caution in his voice, Benny paused to look over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t open that door.”

Benny looked back, frowning at the door. “Why not? It’s probably just the neighbour.”

Diego shook his head slowly, eyeing the door. “I don’t think so.”

His fingers slid down the sides of his thighs. Muscle memory pawing for the knives that usually rested against that spot. However, his fingers met no metal, and only brushed along the denim of his jeans. Diego swore under his breath, regretting having changed into more era-fitting attire.

“Aw come on Diego, you’re such a cynic.” Benny smiled, before completely turning the knob and pulling.

Before he could even pull the door back fully, a force did it on its own from the outside. The door slammed back, smacking Benny roughly on the head. He stumbled back, collapsing against his side table, tumbling to the ground in a heap of stiff limbs.

Above, looming over him like mountains were three burly men, one familiar from the theater. They had followed them to Benny’s house.

Patty stepped back, letting out a startled cry as the men stepped over Benny, hard expressions boring into Diego as they advanced.

“Stealing from a poor young lady,” The man from the theater sneered. “Thank God we heard the commotion.”

The hallway was narrow and short, with the staircase taking up a majority of the room. Six bodies were far too many for a fight like this. Diego wasn’t stupid, he knew what these men were trying to stage the situation to be. 

“He’s not stealing!” Patty protested.

“Patty,” Diego said sternly, “Upstairs.”

The girl didn’t seem to agree, opening her mouth to argue. “But Be-“

“-Upstairs now. Benny will be fine.” He spared a reassuring glance over his shoulder at the frightened, yet fiery lady, “It’ll be alright.”

In reluctant surrender, Patty backed up the staircase, gaze holding onto the intruders with a fierce, hard expression. He didn’t doubt that had the fight not been unfair, she would happily have joined in. For such a small, timid lady, she sure did have her moments of aggression. 

Diego’s gaze settled back on the men, brows furrowing. His right hand dragged along the table next to him, feeling for any sharp or easily throwable object he could use. Sliding his fingers across something small but bolted down, he heard the short screech of a needle against vinyl.

Music began to fill the room in an oddly relaxing strum as he found purchase on a letter opener, sly relief washing over his heart.

Now the playing field was even.

_~When a young boy from Chicago town stepped through a Southern door~_

In serendipitous rhythm with the guitar, the men began to advance, loud feet clambering against the squeaky wood floors. The burliest man approached first, and as he threw his arm back in a punch, Diego let loose the dull letter opener. The tip embedded itself within the man’s abdomen following the grunt of pain from the man.

Big Boy, as Diego had aptly named him staggered back, sausage-like fingers hovering over the hilt of the blade. Quickly before Big Boy could yank the knife out, Diego wrenched the blade from skin, adding a little additional salt to the wound with a kick in the same spot.

Big Boy staggered back from the force of the kick, crashing into the other three men like a bowling ball. 

_~ This boy’s dreadful tragedy I can still remember well~_

“God damn spic!” Theater Man yelled, spitting saliva like a seething dog. Both he and the other man moved around Big Boy like a bull trapped in a pen, uncaring to the furniture they knocked down in the process.

A punch was thrown by Theater Man only to be sideswiped easily by a blow to the face by Diego.

Satisfaction bloomed in the pit of Diego’s stomach, a cockiness he had never truly learned to control since childhood growing more prominent by the second. It wasn’t that he thought he was better than everyone at fighting in the room, it was just that he knew for a fact he had the most experience and knowledge in the area. Working alone was easy- something he had notably forgotten since reuniting with his family. It was a hell of a lot easier than having to deal with stupid opinions and dumbass siblings. He had dealt with guys like this before and worse alone, they’d be a piece of cake to deal wit-

All of a sudden, something hard slammed into the back of his head, shattering into sharp glass pieces that rained down everywhere. Pain exploded in an overwhelming amount through his skull, feet staggering forward suddenly weak. He blinked back the daze that threatened to overtake him, only to be thrown backwards by a swift gap to the gut. 

_~ They said they had a reason, but I can’t remember what ~_

Two large hands, ones Diego admittedly thought were Luther’s for a surprising moment, fisted the fabric from his chest, lifting him off his feet. His body tensed for impact, fingers in a death grip around the letter opener as Big Boy hauled him up and through the glass doors of a china cabinet.

Blood blew from his lips, body screaming in utter agony as he shifted in the destroyed ceramics, trying badly to right himself. The shards of glass embedded puncturing his skin argued otherwise, sending sharp spikes of searing hot pain through his nerves.

_~ They tortured him and did some things too evil to repeat ~_

Theater Man approached, a smug grin on his dumbass face that Diego wanted to wipe clean off, ever present through the wrinkles.

“Fuck you.” Diego spit.

Theater Man reached around his belt, pulling a small revolver from the back of his pants. “Y’made a mistake coming to this country.”

If Diego wasn’t in extreme pain, he would have rolled his eyes and let out some snarky comment. But his body hurt like hell and he wasn’t in the mood to extend this confrontation any longer. He just wanted to beat the shit outta these guys and end the fight.

The small gun was raised, pointed directly at Diego’s chest like a clock hitting twelve. In an ominously slow gesture, Theater Man cocked the hammer back, his aim steady. 

There were two types of people when it came to aiming a gun at another. Those whose aim shook from terrified hands and overwhelming adrenaline, and those who had an aim as still as a mouse. Diego had seen his fair share of both, but he knew that to point a gun at another and not even show the slightest ounce of hesitation or shake, meant that the person behind the gun truly and utterly hated with all their existence the one in front- no matter how invalid that hatred is.

As Theater Man squeezed the trigger, Diego threw the letter opener as hard as he could at the man’s foot, throwing his free hand instinctively out forward. The familiar tug in his gut pulled tightly at his insides, and he could suddenly feel a burning sensation growing like a wildfire in his palm.

_~ There were screaming sounds inside the barn, there was laughing sounds out on the street ~_

A collection of gasps of surprise escaped the intruders’ lips followed by the loud- high pitched squeal from Theater Man. While in any situation Diego would have focused primarily on Theater Man’s cries of pain from having a knife stuck in the base of his foot, it was the gasps that had caught his attention and made him look up.

Smoke was stemming out from the barrel of the revolver, but the bullet had not hit Diego to his disbelief. No, instead the bullet was held, suspended in mid air, inches away from Diego’s palm like it was held there by string... or by him.

What the hell?

“Holy shit, I’m a jedi.” He muttered, smiling stupidly through the pain. With the tug of his gut once more, the bullet shot out sideways, embedding itself into one of the steps of the staircase. If only Luther was here to see this. Diego could have rubbed it all in his face.

“What kinda alien _are_ you?” Theater Man snapped, his eyes brimming with tears from the knife in his foot.

Diego pushed himself up onto wobbly legs, fists raised ready to fight once more. “Not the two you think I am.”

_~ The reason that they killed him there, and I’m sure it ain’t no lie ~_

It seemed like whatever he had done had exhausted him completely without realizing, as the moment he stood and prepped himself once more, Big Boy’s stupid ape hands found their way back on him. He was dragged across the ground, punching and kicking to no success as they slammed him down against the outside rails of the stairs. 

_~ Was just for the fun of killin’ him and to watch him slowly die ~_

Rough, thick rope wraps around his neck from behind, and before Diego could rip it over his head, there’s a grunt of exertion and the rope is pulled back, digging harshly into his windpipe. Diego’s head slammed against one of the staircase rails as the pulling only gets tougher, the pressure squeezing his windpipe like its closing space in a stitch. He gasps for breath, finding an unpleasant lack of air in his inhales.

The pressure behind the rope grows excruciatingly tight, and the corners of his eyes begin to darken.

_‘Slow down_ ’ His mom’s soft voice echoes in his head. ‘ _focus’_

With whatever breath is left in his lungs, he stops struggling, letting the overwhelming darkness and fear spill over him despite every part of his body saying otherwise. The music grows faint, and the men become distant muffled echoes. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, but they’re probably yipping for joy at the sight of the man they were choking out with a rope.

_~ And so this trial was a mockery, but nobody seemed to mind ~_

His eyes shut, and Diego stops breathing.

* * *

Diego remembers storming off after the funeral.

Which funeral? He’s not too sure. It seemed funerals happened more often than rainy days, and there was a lot of days like that.

He remembers locking himself in a room he hasn’t considered his for awhile, peeling off a heavy dark blazer and tossing it onto the floor.

Numbly he slides into bed, body curled inward clutching the fabric of the duvet tighter with each sob that racked his frame.

There’s a knock at his door and he turns away from it, staring lifelessly at the wall.

“Diego,” His mom’s sweet, gentle voice says on the other side of the door. “Do you want something to eat?”

Diego bears no response, opting for his silence to answer her question.

To his displeasure, his mom’s system can only pick up so many social cues, and silence is not one of them. The door unlocks, sending a harsh reminder once again to Diego that while he may have the ability to lock his bedroom door, it didn’t mean that it would prevent people from coming in. The illusion of freedom and privacy; a bird that thinks their cage is the whole world. Their father never allowed that, hence why he, their mom and Pogo all had keys.

The edge of the bed dips, a soft hand resting against Diego’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” His Mom asks.

Diego holds back a sob, “No.”

“Tell me why,” She says, “Talk to me.”

“H-he’s dead. Because of us.”

Whoever had died was a good person, Diego remembers that well. He can’t put a face to the person, but he can remember the friendly touch, the timid nature, the caring soul that that person was.

They didn’t want to fight- didn’t want to hurt anyone, but they had to- and Diego failed to protect them.

His Mom nods, in whatever understanding she is programmed to have, “And that’s why you’re alone?”

Diego shuts his eyes, burying wet tears under the thickness of the pillow.

It was better to be alone. He’s only ever been with his family and look where that got one of them.

Being alone was good. There was freedom and privacy in it. Nobody but yourself could get hurt, no one could be your fault.

Nobody but Ben.

_I’m sorry, Ben._

* * *

His eyes fly open, body lurching forward as consciousness is flung back at him. Tugged roughly back by the harsh short rope around his neck, Diego tries to sit up to gather his wits.

In front of him, Patty is kneeled, eyes wide and brimming with terrified tears, a small hand pressed against his chest.

“I-I thought you were dead, y-you weren’t breathing- you still aren’t breathing!” Patty exclaims panickily, volume growing louder with each terrified breath. “Why aren’t you breathing?!”

Stiffly, Diego presses his hand against his chest, feeling for a rise and fall. The bony cage surrounding his lungs never once expand or contract in the time he takes to check. That would definitely freak Patty out.

“It’s okay.” He says hoarsely, the last of the air in his lungs escaping. Numbly he reaches behind the nape of his neck, fingers fumbling for the knot restricting airflow.

It takes a couple of minutes, and Patty is sitting staring in utter disbelief at Diego’s chest as he slowly, and methodically undoes the noose, not once having his chest rise or fall. It remains static- still like a corpse. And his siblings always made fun of him for his secondary power- calling it useless and lame.

Well look at him now, surviving a strangulation attempt.

The rope falls to the floor, and finally he lets himself take a deep breath. “I don’t need to breath.” He says.

The answer apparently doesn’t satisfy Patty enough because the color drains from her face, eyes desperate.

“Why!” Patty practically screams frazzled. “Why not!”

Diego grabs the rail behind him, using it to push himself up despite an aching body that says otherwise. “No clue, I’d love to know too.”

He wobbles over to the living room, grabbing the bag full of his knives and stuff. Patty follows close behind, trailing after him like a confused puppy. He’s gotta leave. He can’t have people like Benny or Patty around him, the risk would be too great. There was too much going on in his life- he was in the 60’s for god sake, his family had just died by vortex, and John F. Kennedy was still alive.

“Is Benny okay?” He asks offhandedly as he starts pocking the knives in his bag. His head is pounding and he’s positive that the shards of glass from the china cabinet are still dug into the skin on his back, but he pays no mind to it. He can manage.

Patty nods dazedly, “Yeah- I uh… I dragged him over to the couch.”

“Good, when he wakes up check for a concussion.” Slinging the bag over his shoulder he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Patty breathes.

“Leaving.” Diego said simply.

“Why!”

“Because you’re good people, and that almost cost you your lives.”

“But it wasn’t your fault!”

Diego turned around, stopping a foot away from Patty. She looked up at him, eyes round. “Look, those guys came to your house looking to hurt me, and I wouldn’t put them past hurting anyone I know. So as far as your concern, I broke into your house, they saved you, and I got away.”

“But-“

“-But the police will be here soon, and I’ve never had a good relationship with them. Tell Benny what I told you and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s not fair!”

God, as if that wasn’t the title to his life story. Ever since he was born life hasn’t be fair, but he grew to accept that fact and worked to never let it dictate his life again. He’d make his own path, one outside of his father’s reign and the Umbrella Academy. A path where he could become his own person.

“I’ll get over it.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Patty crossed her arms, squeezing them against her body. “What will you do now?”

What was he going to do? Would it be a futile endeavor to see if his family made it through? For all he knew they could have been thrown back to the Pre-Historic era or crushed to a million pieces by time itself. Was it wiser just to move on and settle down in the 60’s? His siblings- the exception being Vanya he guessed, were never raised to settle down and live a comfortable, nuclear family life. No matter where they went or how hard they’d try the past would catch up with them some way or another. Allison was a perfect example of a failed attempt at normalcy. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, how she was raised, and her power ultimately determined the outcome of her relationship with Patrick and Claire.

No, he had to do something. It was in his nature. Diego could never stay static when stuff needed to be done.

Diego glanced at the floor thoughtfully, taking note of a newspaper laying at his feet. On the cover was a grainy black and white photo of John F. Kennedy smiling confidently on a podium.

Something clicked in his brain. A goal solidifying- becoming his one sole purpose in life.

“I’m going to go stop an assassination.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song that plays on the record player as the fight goes down is the lovely Bob Dylan, Death of Emmett Till. A musical poem describing the lynching of a young boy in recent years prior. There will be serious aspects such as discrimination, homophobia, and racism at play during this fic and I will absolutely try my best to not only handle it as considerately, non-romantically, and tentatively as possible, but also hopeful provide and educate people on the situation in the 60s and how horribly similar it still is to our world today.
> 
> Also I'm going to change the summary later bc I'm tired and just wrote a short description as a base. There's three chapters in total, each spanning a certain aspect/situation Diego faces before Five finding him. (Those three being: 1. Arrival, 2. JFK 3. Mental Institution)
> 
> Have fun


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